


An Old Dragon

by Flameysaur



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flameysaur/pseuds/Flameysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bae never fell into a portal, and instead grew old and died in the Enchanted Forest. Lost after his son's death, Rumpelstiltskin searches the land for a cure that won't curse another soul. Belle is good at finding information and old books. She contacts the Dark One for protection for her lands. A deal is struck, she finds a cure for his curse and tend to his estate and he'll protect her family. But Fate moves in strange ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://agent-jaselin.tumblr.com/post/57201548702/nothingeverlost-trashandscraps-what-if) post and beautiful picture. An alternate Rumbelle universe.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

His name could call him across oceans. It sang across mountains, ran over fields. It was the leash he’d never slip off his neck. Even in the days after Bae, he had to heed it.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

What people didn’t know was that while he couldn’t ignore it, he didn’t have to reveal himself. He stood in shadows, cloaked in their familiar slippery grip. If one of the guards surrounding the girl turned, waving the burning torch in his hand towards the shadows, they’d peel bits of him away like he was a shadow himself, and he’d disappear.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

She stood in a golden dress, a cracked, leather bound book in her hands. She stared up to the sky, like she was calling the old fairy instead of him. Her hair, bound lightly up and tumbling down her back, was a pretty shade of brown. The curls reminded him of Bae.

Everything reminded him of Bae.

“My lady,” The guards spoke with the strange accent of the Badlands. His armor was tarnished, blood staining the leg. Either he was wearing used armor or…The guard moved forward, limping and Rum understood. War wound. Only the injured come home after all. “He hasn’t come.”

“I’ve only done this twice.” The girl turned, hope brimming in her voice. It made it tight and high. “Maybe it takes three nights.”

“My lady…” The guard rested a hand on her shoulder. She sagged and looked back to the sky.

_Wrong place, dearie._ He thought quietly. He would never come from the sky, a fairy on high. He was a dragon. And he was tired.

“Try it alone.” He blew the words into the air. They twined around the guards until they slipped into the girl’s head and nestled there like a thought. Her blue eyes gleamed with the fresh plan. He almost smiled.

Tomorrow night, he would appear.

* * *

 

She couldn’t try again in the courtyard. The guards would want to know. They’d shake their heads and shift anxiously from side to side. Their shoulders would sag and they’d look to each other. They should be eating, they’d be thinking, or resting or trying to find the inner strength to face another day.

Some never woke up in the morning.

The ogres were coming, why should they wake to that? Belle woke with the knowledge burned into her soul. The ogres were coming. Her father was trying, but he was a merchant lord, not a solider given a plot of land. This land was supposed to be safe. It had been protected once. Belle wanted it to be protected again.

“Rumplestiltskin.” She wore a simple gown, her maids having already dressed her for the night. She changed into the one gown she had that could be done for herself. It was still new, fabric soft and fine, but simple, and undyed. She wore it for going among the people, her people and doing what she could for this war.

Belle would do anything for her people.

“Rumplestiltskin.” Her hair was down for the night though. No man besides her father and the servants have seen her with her hair down, not even Gaston, the solider she’d marry for his men. He was a fine man, a kind man, a simple man. Belle tried to remember how lucky she was when she laid in her bed and dreamed of more. Her people were dying and that ended the discussion in her mind.

Her heart, on the other hand, wasn’t so quiet.

“Rumple—”

“Yes, yes, dearie. I heard you.”

Bella spun. He sat in her old rocking chair. Her wet nurse had fed her there, her mother cradled her before the sickness took her, even her father took a turn, during the early years. Now she had it by the fire, for reading or thinking or just being alone for a few minutes. He sat there now, one leg thrown over the other, fingers steepled against his chest.

His voice was so tired. He spoke like he hadn’t slept in a century. Eyelids drooped over strange gold eyes. His skin looked like leathered hide, turned green-gold and with a hint of shine. His clothes were oddest of all. Patched worked peasant wear, with patches of the rough, brown fabric of peasant wool that was worn almost through. Finer fabric held the peasant wool into the strange suit, but no piece of fabric looked the same. He wore fine boots, done up to the knee, and he was clean, as clean as herself straight from the bath.

“Rumplestiltskin?” She asked, taking a step back despite herself. They were alone. In her room. A man she was not married too, nor would marry, stared at her in her thin gown. She bit her lip and forced herself to stand tall.

His lips twitched.

“Yes.” He stood and bowed. It was a graceful bow. “You’ve been calling me.”

“The ogres are coming. They are—” She took a step forward; fears melted away by the need, the blood, of her people. He held up a hand and stopped her.

“Yes, yes, I know.” He clasped his arms behind him and walked to the window. The clouds were billowing over the sky, blocking out the stars. Still he looked up. “Magic has a price.” He said it simply, like this was a conversation.

“You protected this land before.” She went to the book beside her bed; it was a transcribed discussion with a member of his old village. She claimed to have married his son, born his grand children. She claimed to have been on the field to drive the ogres away.

He smiled.

“That book is hard to get.” He held out a hand. “May I?”

Belle blinked but slowly crossed the room to place it in his hand. He rubbed the cover softly, stroking it like a cheek.

“Morraine.” He whispered the teller’s name, then handed the book back. “She was a good woman.” He said simply. “But she didn’t tell the price I told.”

“What was that?”

His smile widened, but it didn’t soften his face. His eyes opened fully for the first time and a touch of madness gave him life. He giggled.

“Blood. Innocent blood. I spilled it across my boot and smeared it as I walked. Good deeds come at the highest price.”

Belle took a step back, clutching the book to her chest. When the man in front of her looked awake, he didn’t seem a man at all. But the moment passed. His lids drooped again and he sagged.

“I will protect your people.” He said and held up a finger, “But at a cost.”

“What?” She inched closer to her bed. There was a pull there that would call every guard running, if she pulled it with enough fear and strength. He tilted his head slightly.

“You found that book.” He nodded to the one in her hand. “It’s in an old tongue, and there’s only one copy. Many weren’t interested in a peasant’s story.”

“I am.” She said fiercely, eyes narrowing.

He smiled again, the soft sweet smile of before.

“I need to find a book.”

“What book?”

The smile widened. “That I don’t know. Somewhere in the world, someone knows how to end the Dark One curse, without cursing someone else. And I will find them. Or the book they wrote.”

“What if they didn’t write a book?” Belle asked.

He was there. Suddenly and completely in her face. His breath brushed against her face and she couldn’t even scream.

“It’s there.” He snarled, yellow teeth bared. Belle’s hands trembled, but her grip on the book was strong. It was thick, bound in hard leather.

She hit the Dark One with her book.

He fell back, eyes wide but face still drooping. He stared at her, not in pain, but shock. Then he laughed. It was a slow sound, hesitant and scared. It lasted for only a few seconds, but it was a laugh.

“You’re a brave girl.” He said.

“I am a woman.” She argued, though perhaps she shouldn’t. She still held the book up.

“Are you?”

“If I can be engaged, I am a woman.” She said firmly.

Something moved in his eyes and he sighed.

“True, true. Marriage is what makes a man, or woman.” He shook his head, like dislodging a memory. “I need the book.”

“I can look for it if you—”

“That is not the whole deal.” He raised a hand to stop her. “The book is for me. Your tenure with me will end when the book is found, but until then, I need something for the magic.”

“Like what?”

“Like an innocent life, cut short.”

Belle’s eyes went wide and she raised the book again. He took a step back and held up his hands, like the demon would need a weapon to kill her.

Like a book could protect her if he did.

“You have a life starting here, a fiancée waiting, a family ready to be built between you. Come with me, be my maid, and the ogres will be gone. No blood spilt.” His eyes unfocused. “This time, no more blood spilt.”

Belle’s hands trembled around the book again. “I’m just to leave, go with you? Without saying goodbye?”

He focused on her again, but he nodded. “A note, but no goodbyes. Magic comes with a price, dearie.”

Belle looked back to her bed. It was a fine bed, large with tall wooden posters. The fabric is soft, blankets warm. Maids wake her every morning for a bath and breakfast. She would be the maid, she would be waking him. Her stomach clenched as she thought of the baths, but…

She’d marry Gaston for her people, would being his “maid” be different? The clerics would declare so, but what did her soul matter, when her people were in danger?

“Yes.” She said, looking back to him. She took a deep breath and said it again. “Yes.”

The demon smiled and presented his hand. Her hand shook but she reached out. When her fingers brushed against his palm, they were gone.

All that was left was a roaring fire and a dispelling smoke. Sir Maurice would not find the note until dawn. By then, he’d already know it was too late.

* * *

 

He lived in a castle standing over a village. It was a tidy village, with fine thatched roofs and strong wood walls. The streets were clear and made of mud packed so tightly only the heaviest of storms would turn them into mush. A market, quiet in the dawn, stood full of produce and products.

“It’s empty.” Belle said when they walked through it.

“Yes.” He said, refusing to look at the homes. Bae ran down these paths. He could sometimes hear his laugh, high and young. It had cost him two years of sanity to move Bae’s home here, and a decade of waiting for it to die without his quiet protection and help. He’d taken it, from the dirt it stood on, to the homes that housed their neighbors, and he’d planted it in front of the castle Bae would never let him give his boy. Bae had wanted the simple life, with Morraine and his family.

They all slept in the ground now, near the old home they had spent his best years in. Rumplestiltskin would never leave him alone.

“Why does no one live here?” she asked. Belle looked everywhere. She lingered in front of one home, then rushing to catch up to Rumplestiltskin’s steady, if slow, gait. He couldn’t seem to move fast anymore. “These are fine homes.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.” He didn’t say the words with bite, sometimes it felt like all his bite has left him, but she bristled anyway.

“I help my people in any way I can.” She said firmly. He slowly nodded.

“I saw.” He said. He paused in the marketplace, always with fresh food. “Eat if you wish. I have an errand.” He took flowers from one of the vendorless stands and walked away from the lady. He paused and glanced back. Goosebumps covered her arms in the early light. He flicked a wrist and a warm clock fell over her. “You looked cold.” He said simply, and walked away.

She was a smart girl. She didn’t follow. Rumplestiltskin watched the sky, hating the houses around him, but his feet knew this path. His feet could walk it his head were removed from his body. Rumplestiltskin believed they would if that ever did happen.

The houses thinned as he came to the “edge” of town. The old house used to be on the edge of a field, where his sheep, three mangled animals they used to be, lived. But now it simply stood near the forest surrounding his castle. But one area was the same.

The gravestones were plain, rocks gathered from the old forest. Rumplestiltskin could make better, but Bae never wanted better. He wanted home. That’s all Bae ever wanted. Rumplestiltskin broke his bunch of flowers in two and placed one half on Bae’s grave and the other on Morraine’s. Their children went off, traveled, met spouses elsewhere, made a life in different places. They came back for the funeral and found Rumplestiltskin a monster, a beast of fire and pain.

They had Bae’s eyes, his old eyes, and tamed the monster, but they hadn’t stayed. No one would have stayed with him. Instead, Rumplestiltskin watched them from afar. It was a saying, in some parts of the world, “You’re a Rum Child.” A person of great luck, who never faces real danger, but who must always be wary.

Rumplestiltskin doesn’t like people staining Bae’s legacy.

“I have found someone who might help find a cure.” Rumplestiltskin said, brushing fingers over Bae’s headstone. “She found your book.” He looked to Morraine’s. “She might be able to find another. I’m…I’m trying Bae.” He rose, slowly. His bones didn’t hurt, like his leg used to so long ago, but something ached, deep inside him. “Soon…soon, I hope.”

_Papa, you’re different now. You hurt people all the time._

_I need more power. To protect you._

_But there must be power without hurting people! Can’t you find another way?_

_Magic, Bae, has a price._

_Then find another way to pay it, please, Papa, not with blood. Or…I’ll leave._

Bae had said those words over a steaming stew and stared at him with such honesty that some part of Rumpelstitlskin, the part twisted and festering with the curse, had wanted to laugh. As if Bae could leave if Rumplestiltskin didn’t wish him too.

But Rumplestiltskin hadn’t wanted to bind his son as he had bound his wife, so he made a deal.

_Stay, Bae. Stay and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy._

And he had. He stopped killing. He hadn’t even taken the mute maid’s life, though her possible treachery drove him to near insanity. He had made a basement for the house—no longer there now—and bound himself in chains. He could undo them with a thought but the visual was important. He wouldn’t break his word to Bae. He wouldn’t break his word to Bae.

And Rumplestiltskin had learned. Magic, for a deal, cost less. So he made a deal with the maid. He’d put her life on the line—if she agreed to it, it wasn’t murder, it was execution, clearly different—if she ever betrayed him and in return, he’d give her voice. She’d agreed, and been a loyal maid until her death, several years before Bae.

And that’s how he started making deals. All magic had a price, but others could pay the price.

Rumplestiltskin had kept his first deal. And soon everyone knew, he’d keep any deal he offered, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.

Rumplestiltskin enjoyed making deals.

* * *

 

Belle didn’t want to be afraid. She was here for her people. Her family, everyone she knew, would be safe. That had to be enough for her. It didn’t matter what happened to her. But she clutched her book to her chest, it and her dress the only thing in the world she owned now. The cloak he gave her was warm, but she wondered what it’s price would be. Would she have to wear it, and nothing else, later? Would he be kind for the first time? Could he possibly not want that? He seemed tired, as he climbed the steps to his castle before her. He seemed too tired to want such a thing, and yet Belle didn’t know. Clerics claimed he was a thing of lust and devilry. But they claimed many things; like that the ogres were a sign from the gods of their wicked ways.

Belle had nearly stormed from the church at that.

“You’re angry.” He was smiling when she looked up to find the door open. She felt the scowl drop from her face.

“S-sorry. Bad memories.”

“You don’t need to be afraid.” He led her inside. “Your duties are simple. Clean, cook, I like tea in the evenings.” He took her to a room where a long table dominated the space. A tea set sat on the edge of the table. Candles flickered to life as he walked into the room, fire roared in the fireplace that had been cold moments before. They revealed fine walls with art, and curio cabinets where the glass gleamed. Treasures dotted the room, some on walls, others on stands, many in the cabinets.

“Why don’t you use magic to clean?” she asked, walking to the tea cups. She assumed she had to serve it. She picked a cup up, it was bone white and china thin. She smiled.

“Because I’m going insane.” He fell into a chair and rested his forehead against his hands, his eyes dropping closed. “Why, I only skinned six children yesterday.”

The cup fell from her hands. His eyes popped open and he gave a wicked smile. Belle’s heart jumped and she fell to the floor.

“I was joking, dearie.” He said with a slight sneer, but the smile stayed, not mocking or tired and it did interesting things to his face. Belle licked her lips and winced when she saw the cup.

“It’s…uh, chipped. It’s a small one.” She lied, holding up the broken cup. The chip was large, obvious from even his distance. He tilted his head and said in bored tones.

“It’s just a cup.”

Belle bit inside her cheek and rose. She poured them tea, spilling only a little, but to her surprise he took her chipped cup. He smirked when he drank from it, but she managed a smile back.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as she feared.

* * *

 

He gave her free rein of the castle. She got a fine room, nearly the equal of her room at home. He had no desire to give a show of cruelty, it would accomplish nothing, and besides, she made him laugh. He hadn’t laughed in decades, not since he let his guard down around a sweet baby girl. He had been foolish then, Cora had seen such weakness and used it against him. Cora was gone now. He’d help Regina fight back, in the small ways he could.

Small ways, late ways, Regina wasn’t a sweet baby girl now. She was the Queen Cora had always wanted, Evil.

Rumplestiltskin felt tired. He always felt tired.

“I’ll need access to the outside world.” Belle said, dragging him from his memories.

“Hmm?”

“I need to contact people. That’s how I found Morraine’s book. Contacts.”

“Oh, of course.” He whistled a quick bird song, an old talent from his spinner days. He didn’t have many talents then. A dove came swooping down; Princess Snow trained before she’d been driven off. It landed on his outstretched hand. “He’ll deliver messages wherever they need to go, simply give them a word.”

“What’s his name?” Bella asked, a delighted smile brightening her face. Rumplestiltskin stared, unused to such simple pleasure. He wanted to say Bae smiled like that, most joy reminded him of Bae, but he hadn’t. His smile had been different. Hers was simple, and bright, like the sun.

“I’m not sure.” He turned to the bird, unable to stop his theatrics. “What is your name, kind Sir?” He asked, giving a slight bow to the bird. It tilted its head and cooed.

“Reginald.” Rumplestiltskin said with a straight face.

To his delight, Belle giggled. It was a cautious sound, but there. Her eyes danced, not cautious at all. Rumplestiltskin rather liked her eyes, so bright and expressive. It was a shame they wouldn’t live on. Children bring such immortality into the world.

Of course, Rumplestiltskin had real immortality.

“Nice to meet you, Reginald. I’m sure we’ll be great friends.” Belle gave a lady like bow. She wore some of her new clothes. He gave her clothes more suiting of a maid. She hadn’t commented, but the pretty blue dress set off her eyes. Not that Rumplestiltskin planned that. He smiled and offered Reginald to her.

“He’ll deliver any letter you like.” He said. “Any.”

Belle paused and caught his eyes as the meaning sank in. The smile he had hoped for curled her lips and she pulled the dove tighter to her chest.

“Thank you.” She nearly mouthed the words. He shrugged.

“The castle has been looking especially dust free.” He turned back to his spinning wheel, the only thing from the old home he took into his new home, and by extension, the only thing Belle wasn’t allowed to touch. The familiar creaks filled the room as Belle got to work. She was a good worker, his food was often burnt, she used too much water when scrubbing, but she never shirked her duties. More importantly, she worked to find the book. She scoured his library, which he did appreciate because he took many books that he hoped would contain something and hadn’t been able to read through them all. He was still a slow reader. Now she was seeking contacts. That was her ability. She knew people in ways he couldn’t, too distant, too cursed, to get information without bribes and bullying.

Even then, you had to question the information given to you. He might have enjoyed the dance, if he had something to dance for, something better to look forward to than human failures and a human grave.

But sometimes he ached for the dirt.

“I’m writing to an old friend.” Belle said. “I never met him, but he knows so many books.”

“A good idea.” Rumplestiltskin said, feeding wool into the wheel. “I’ve had someone like that I’ve been meaning to try.” The old wizard who grew backwards in time knew much. It would mean contacting Jefferson, whom Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure if he was still in “the game”. But perhaps a new toy for his daughter, or a pretty bauble for his wife would tempt him.

Oh. No. Not for the wife. Gold then, for support of a child. Rumplestiltskin would not let a child starve.

“Why do you spin so much?” Belle asked. Rumplestiltskin looked over to the pile of gold. He liked this magic best. It soothed his soul, a wool sacrifice enough for gold. (When you have magic you realize how worthless wealth really is. Only power is needed. Cora understood that.)

“It helps me forget.” He said tiredly.

“Forget what?”

He looked back to Belle, with her pretty little smile, and pretty little eyes. He smiled back but he didn’t have the strength, or the energy to even start that tale.

“Guess it worked.”

She laughed. He liked that she laughed. He liked that she smiled. He began to spin again and wondered if a woven bracelet, like the old braids he’d do for yarn, would please her. He’d like another smile.

* * *

 

Belle wasn’t sure when it happened. She’d expected fear when she accepted the deal. She was willing to be miserable. She’d almost idealized suffering silently. But she hadn’t suffered. In fact, she was almost…happy. Her favorite parts of her day, as sad as they could be, were walking with her people, helping them, being useful for once. While she hadn’t looked forward to being Gaston’s wife, she had looked forward to running a household, raising children. She liked having things to do.

Now she did run a household, oh it was an odd one, and one where children would never run the halls, but she ran it. She cleaned those halls, dusted the house, decided when dinner would be. Her arms ached for the first month, and her knees were still bruised, but there was a claiming in cleaning. She liked it.

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t hard to live with. He’d disappear sometimes, for “deals”, and sometimes he’d lock himself in his tower, with books and papers and plans, but mostly he sat around, in whatever room she was in, and found some way to keep her company. He was a quiet man, all things considered, with small patches of whimsical oddities. It matched his patchwork clothes, with finery and peasant wear sewed together. She wasn’t allowed to touch his clothes, or the spinning wheel. They were simple rules to follow. She found him harmless, over all. She grew comfortable.

That’s why the first attack took her by surprise.

He came home holding a box. His eyes were fully opened and he giggled as he did. When he called for her, her voice positively trilled.

“Take this, dearie.” He said, using the endearment he hadn’t said in weeks. “Now don’t look inside.” He waved a finger in her face. “Don’t! Don’t!” Then he laughed. It was high pitched and sent shivers down her spine. “But you’re a good girl. A man will come to the door. He should have an accent and a brown beard. Ask him about wolves. If he answers correctly, give him the box.”

He stumbled away, still giggling like mad.

“What’s the correct answer?” she asked.

“You’ll know it when you hear it.” He called back and went downstairs. Belle never went downstairs, he said it hadn’t needed to be clean and didn’t forbid it from her. The combination made it a boring place to go, and with all her work it hadn’t seemed important. Now she wondered.

She looked at the box and almost opened the lid before she remembered his warning. She knew better than to disobey him. He didn’t give orders pointlessly. So she took the box to one of his curio cabinets and opened the door. She closed it and held it shut for a second, closing her eyes.

_Lock_ , she thought firmly, like he taught her. She smiled when she heard the click.

She didn’t notice the drape wasn’t over the mirror behind her, or that something green flickered across it. She went on with her day and assumed Rumplestiltskin would be back up soon. He never stayed away long.

In an hour, she heard screams.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin rarely committed good deeds. He saved up his selfish uses of magic for just that, selfish uses. But occasionally, Bae rises from the grave and watches him across the centuries. This was one of those times.

_“He stands out.” Rumplestiltskin said, watching a man leave Regina’s private bed chamber. He dressed as one of Regina’s guards, but he moved nothing like the clumsy fools Regina hired. He was lithe and graceful. He moved like an animal._

_And he gave Regina a look of such broken hearted rage, Rumplestiltskin had been shocked enough to lose track of the conversation and bring it up._

_“What?” Regina turned and blinked as she noticed the man. “Oh. He is my huntsmen.” She gave a sniff. “He failed as a huntsman. But he has other uses.” Then she smiled. It was a sexy smirk that would drive many men insane. Rumplestiltskin remembered when she skinned her knee and cried until he had dangled her upside down with his own hands. Regina could have been his, Cora was…open to such things, but that would have gotten him nothing. Besides, Cora hadn’t been pleased to discover there was no fire in him. His son had killed that long ago. Cora was all fire; fire and passion and fury and need. She had been a beautiful bonfire that raged out of control._

_So Rumplestiltskin made her daughter put her out. Maybe guilt was why he still answered Regina’s summons. Guilt and a wish things had gone differently. Regina tasted power with her mother’s demise and despite her own wishes, she was tumbling down a dark path._

_“It’s all Snow White’s fault.” She’d claimed, when she asked for magic lessons. “I just need peace, please.” Rumplestiltskin hadn’t given lessons, but she was smart and she’d learned._

_“I’m surprised you let him so close.” Rumplestiltskin said, slumping back in his chair. He missed home, he missed Belle._

_It’d been a long time since he missed anyone but Bae._

_“Oh, well.” The smile twisted more. “I have…insurance.” She placed a hand on a box. The box was empty, or had normal items in it, but Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened when he understood._

_“You learned that trick?” he asked. It’d taken Cora weeks of needling to get that out of him. He still hated himself for it._

_“I can learn anything she could.” Regina snapped and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. He tried to remember her earnest smile when she first saw a horse, but he only felt sick. He’d given her what she wanted in return for full access to her castle and broken the charms over her stolen hearts with magic he hadn’t paid for yet. He’d taken the man’s heart, the only one he’d known the owner too and promised himself Snow White would get more aid soon._

_It was time Regina went down._

Now it sat in his own dungeon, spells on the doors, chains on his wrist and he shook. His entire body shook with it. The curse pulsed inside of him, pleased and hungry. He used it for deals, nasty things that still ended on the side of good. He used it for tiny comforts, which he’d pay for long ago. He so rarely used it like this, power grabs and personal aid. He had a good reason, he reminded himself, he had a good reason.

But he had a good reason before. He often had good reasons. He was great with reasons.

Rumplestiltskin began to laugh. It carried and rattled against the walls. It leapt across the cells and echoed in the corners. He tugged on the chains, looking at them like he’d never seen them before.

“You can’t chain the Dark One.” He whispered to his own wrists. “No one can chain the Dark One!” He roared to the room. He flew at the door, but the chains held tight. They were charmed with anti-werewolf spells and while that was a mere tickle against his power, it made them too strong for him to break. But he jumped again, chains jerking him back as he did. He stood up, eyes wild, threw back his head and screeched.

* * *

 

Belle raced down the stairs when she heard the first screech. Her feet nearly tripped over her skirts. Her hands flew to her ears once she got down, his screams echoing off the stone walls. Her stomach turned, wondering if that was the point. Cells lined the tiny hallway, some with bars, others with wooden doors. He stood in the last one, head flung back and eyes wide.

“Rum!” The nickname escaped her without thought and she ran to the final cell. “What are you doing here?” Her hands wrapped around the bars and he flew forward. The chains barely held him back. They tried to jerk him back to the far wall. He grinned at her, wild and fierce. She remembered the first night, when he was in her face yelling, for the first time in a month.

Her hands hesitated at the lock.

“That’s right, dearie, leave the monster where he belongs.” He laughed when he said it but Belle frowned. She moved closer to the bars.

“You’re not a monster.” She said firmly. He screeched again. Belle cringed and covered her ears.

“Yes I am!” He snarled. “Just look at me.” He stepped forward, gently this time, so light streaming in through the window would glint off his face. Belle tried the door. It rattled. He laughed. “You must think me so stupid. Why would I leave it unlocked?”  
“Why did you lock it?” she demanded.

“Because I’m where a monster belongs.” He pulled hard at the chains, retreating to the back wall. He dropped to the ground, curling into a tight ball. Belle’s chest ached and she tried the door again.

_Unlock_ , she thought desperately.

The door clicked. Rumplestiltskin jumped. She thought he had leapt for the door before, but that was nothing like now. The chains were pulled to their limited, his arms reached out, fingers almost reaching her as she slipped in. He couldn’t touch her, but he stared at her with wild eyes.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

“I don’t need to heed you.” He snapped. “You’re just a maid. You’re my maid. I’m the master here.” He snarled the words, baring yellow teeth. Belle smiled, the action throwing him off guard. She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him.

“I know I’m the maid. Here until we find the book.” She whispered into his ear. “You’re not alone anymore.”

For a second, he relaxed into her arms. For a second, his body—slim, but muscular and so very warm—leaned fully against hers. For a second, she felt the weight of a man other than her father. Not even Gaston had hugged her.

But then he was gone, darting back against the wall. He grabbed a chain, clinging to it.

“Go away!” He snarled. “Go away! You’re to guard the heart.”

“It’s safe.” She took a step forward. “I locked it in your cabinet. Please, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Go away!” He screamed, jumping forward again. Belle stood still. He stood in her face again, hands hovering over her arms. But he didn’t touch her. Belle noticed that. He never touched her, not even in the smallest ways. She tilted her head up and stared right into his eyes.

“No.” She said firmly.

Rumplestiltskin shook like a leaf. His entire body trembled with something he didn’t understand. He screamed again, not a willful screech, but something long and painful. His claws turned against himself, he scratched at his cheeks, his chin, his eyes. Belle gasped, reaching forward but wounds disappeared even as they appeared. He fell against the wall, curled up. Belle stood, staring and still. He didn’t move. She took a tentative step forward, then another. She dropped next to him on the floor but he didn’t pay attention.

Belle didn’t get up. He still screamed. He screamed and scratched and leapt for the door. Sometimes he mocked her, said hurtful words that made tears escape. He tore at his own wrists, and screamed obscenities at the air. But he never flicked his wrists and freed himself. She knew he could. So she stayed, curled up against the wall. The stones chilled her skin and time emptied her belly, but she refused to move. Sometimes she spoke to him, often she watched him with silence and empathy. He moved farther and farther back, until he was just a tiny ball in the corner, mumbling to his wrists with wide eyes.

And, like it started, it ended. He stood up, suddenly sane. He flicked his wrists and was free. He took the steps to her and offered his hand. Her fingers barely brushed his palm as she rose. Without a word, he led her up and away. When she tried to ask a question, he disappeared. Food was on the tables, warm and filling, but he didn’t appear to eat it.

He didn’t appear for two full days, but he wasn’t in the dungeon, and he didn’t scream. Belle prayed that was good news.

* * *

 

Things changed after that event. Belle noticed less dust and more giggles, mad ones, from Rumplestiltskin. She tried to clean harder, fearful of another attack, but no matter how early she rose, the chores were done. He spun more, spinning out gold like he planned to run away and Belle was scared he would.

He wouldn’t talk of the attack, refused to acknowledge it happened, but it did happen. He touched her now. Tiny, fragmented touches, but they were there. A brush of the hand. Help off a ladder. A strand of hair tucked away. They were so small, and quick, it felt more intimate than lingering glances or trailing fingers. He touched her like he’d always touched her and always would touch her and while it was sinful and wrong, Belle’s skin flushed with each one.

Was it sinful? She wondered one day as she actually read for pleasure. She’d been mostly reading for her project, aware she could go home if she found it soon. She sent mail to everyone, regularly to her father of course, but all her contacts too. No one had good answers.

There were plenty of books on how to break spells, but none that would include the Dark One curse. It seemed before time. They suggested she talk to fairies but when she broached the subject with Rumplestiltskin he’d dismissed her.

“Bad blood.” he explained when he’d been too curt. He smiled a grim smile. “They don’t like how I do my work.”

“And what don’t you like?”

“They…tried to take something precious from me once.” He said, then refused to talk again for the rest of the night. He did that now too, lapsed into complete silences. Belle went back to work. He was in one now, spinning at his wheel and refusing to comment. She stared at his back and wondered when he’d touch her next.

She shouldn’t care, she knew. It shouldn’t matter at all. But she wanted to know.

“Does the village always have food in the market place?” she asked, wanting conversation. She did this sometimes, asked any question she could come up with to see if he’d answer. It worked. Well, once.

He didn’t reply, kept spinning.

“Why do you have a village?” she asked, getting off the chair. “No one lives in it.”

“No one wants to live near a monster.” He said, surprising her. She laughed though. The spinning paused.

“But the village is in perfect shape. I know several refuges that’d be proud to work the land for you. In return for such fine homes.”

“You don’t,” He said, but stopped spinning and turned to her. “They can live in their real homes, thanks to you.”

She gave him a crusty for such a pretty compliment, and a smile almost teased his lips. He liked it when she laughed off compliments, she wasn’t sure why.

“Besides, it’s…not for living in. Not anymore.”

“What is it?” she asked, moving to the table near the spinning wheel. It started again, creaking with a familiar rhythm. She never offers to oil it, the creaks calm her now. They stopped.

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal.” He turned and gave her a long look. “I need more straw, go to the village and get some for me. Come back and…I’ll tell you.”

Belle blinked.

“You trust me to come back.”

He smiled then. It was soft and sad, like the smiles he gave in her bedroom so long ago.

“No,” he said. “I don’t expect to ever see you again.”

Then the wheel started and she knew he wouldn’t talk to her until she did it. Belle grabbed her cloak, the one he gave her the first night, and put on her most sensible shoes, and took time to make sure everything was fine before setting off on the road with a basket. She needed to.

She was annoyed. He was testing her. Testing her. When she’d done nothing to leave. When she worked eagerly for him. When they shared that night.

He was taking away her work and now he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t run. Like she had anywhere to go. Back to her father and Gaston and exchanging sex for a home. She had a home here, without such a deal.

But she did make a deal. And she worked hard to find him his cure but that was just a way to get home, or could be in his mind.

Belle frowned and paused on the road. She remembered his words in the cage. A monster he called himself. She thought that was because of the fit, but what if…it wasn’t? She paused in the woods then tightened her grip on the basket. He was testing her. Fine. She’d pass his test. She’d…

Carriage wheels echoed behind her. Belle turned.

* * *

 

Someone knocked on the door after Belle left. Rumplestiltskin hadn’t wanted to get up. He wanted to do what he was doing now, staring out the window and sipping from a broken cup. But he’d seen the man walking up the drive and he recognized the movement. He went to the cabinet and opened it with ease. He made sure the blanket was still on the mirror then walked to the door.

When he opened the door, the man leapt forward. Out of habit, and the nasty whispering of the curse, Rumplestiltskin held up the box out of his reach. The man wasn’t reaching for the box though, he grabbed Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders.

“She’s talking to your girl. She’ll let her go, but she’s telling her things.”

“What kind of things?” Rumplestiltskin didn’t need to ask who “she” was. The man’s black garb would have told him even if he hadn’t recognized the face. Magic crackled along his skin and he snatched the wolf’s neck. The man was larger than him, but Rumplestiltskin lifted him with ease. “Speak. Wolf.” He snapped. The man clawed at his hand.

“She is safe.” He croaked and Rumplestiltskin let him down. “She’s telling her of True Love’s kiss.” He rubbed his throat when free. “She thinks destroying your curse will weaken you.”

She was right. Rumplestiltskin looked at his hand and some part of his came _alive_. He had an excuse to keep it. He wasn’t failing Bae. He was protecting Belle, protecting the Enchanted Forest. After all, Regina had to go down.

But he looked at the objects surrounding him and knew, that wasn’t the truth. Rumplestiltskin licked his lips and presented the man with his heart.

“I understand.” He paused. The man fumbled with the glowing organ and with care pressed it against his heart. The residual magic of the spell sucked it back in and the man sagged, a puppet that just lost his strings. Then he straightened. New strings formed, Rumplestiltskin could almost see them.

“I owe you.” The man said.

“Yes.” Maybe he shouldn’t accept the idea. Maybe he should free the man of the obligation, or, better, keep it until he could use it.

But Belle was out there. And the man thought True Love’s kiss would work. Rumplestiltskin didn’t have his faith, but Belle was out there.

Belle had to be saved.

“Protect her. Until Regina is gone, protect her.”

The man nodded, he didn’t need more than that.

“I’ll kill her myself.”

“No, dearie, you’ll just lose your heart again. I’ll…” He paused, suddenly remembering a girl screaming with delight as she ran across green hills, then he remembered blue eyes gleaming as Belle refused to leave an old monster. “I’ll think of something.”

Rumplestiltskin turned and prayed the man was right. Belle must return.

* * *

 

She returned dreaming of her old stories. She pictured princesses saving the cursed animals and happily ever afters. She dreamed of simple endings and perfect resolutions. She didn’t give herself time to doubt, time to think, because if she did, she might doubt herself.

She might think of the flaw of her plan.

She might realize that, of course, he couldn’t love her back.

He rejected her kiss.

She leaned in, lips puckered, heart pounding, and he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away.

Belle thought nothing could hurt her worse than the remarks in the cage. She was wrong. With no words at all, he shattered her heart.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” She tried to run away, with tears in her eyes and her heart in her throat, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Why did you try to kiss me?” he asked. She paused. He stared at her with his familiar drooping eyes and slumping shoulders but his grip was tight.

“A woman…she talked to me. Said it could break your curse.”

He leaned close.

“Did she wear black, have dark eyes, red lips?” he asked.

“Yes?”

He took her free hand in his, slipped his grip from her wrist to hands. It was such a firm touch it shocked Belle, sent warmth and electricity everywhere. Love, Regina had claimed, was the most powerful magic of all.

Right now, Belle believed it.

“That’s Regina, sweetheart,” Sweetheart, he’d never said that before either. “She’s not to be trusted.”

“So True Love’s kiss can’t break your curse?” Perhaps her stories weren’t true, but he remained quiet and the truth showed on his face. She frowned. “Why did you never mention it if you knew it could break your curse?”

He gave a wry smile and looked more tired than ever.

“No one could ever love me. Truly or otherwise.” He slumped back in the chair, grip almost falling from her hands.

Belle kissed him.

She didn’t kiss him for a Queen, or to break a kiss. She kissed him because her heart sang, and he drank from her chipped cup, and no one made her laugh like he did and he was so tired all the time and she couldn’t stand to not be kissing him anymore.

Belle kissed him because she loved him.

His lips were too soft against her own, no returning pressure. For a terrifying second, Belle was sure he wouldn’t respond at all. Then his hand cupped her cheek and he kissed back. She thought warmth drowned her when he took her hand, this was something else entirely. He stood, pressing lips and bodies together, so everything tingled. Magic crackled between them. _True love_ , Belle thought dreamily, _she could have True Love_.

He pulled back, pink sink emerging under green gold scales. Brown eyes looked odd where she’d always seen gold. She cupped his face and breathed.

“Kiss me again, it’s working.” She whispered.

“You might not like what you find.” He placed his hands over hers. “I might not be able to protect you.”

“I don’t care.” She said fiercely. He smiled.

“My brave Belle.” He hesitated though. The scales started to return, they crept back over pink, brown starting to pale to gold. She leaned in but hesitated, she couldn’t force this on him. For a long second nothing happened. Belle’s heart hammered in her chest. He’d push her away. He’d chose power. But his hands tightened around hers.

He closed the gap.


End file.
